Page 121 of Wife After Wife

It was different from being alone at home, where she’d obsess about the divorce and what to do about Harry. Megan reported he was like a coiled spring, apt to explode in a temper over the most inconsequential things. She suspected he was addicted to painkillers, which were apparently being supplied by bloody Andre.

Ana wouldn’t have given a damn, except, of course, there was Eliza to consider.

Tonight was her daughter’s first-ever night away from home. Ana couldn’t help wondering if she’d be all right. Eliza had been through so much upheaval this past year, with Harry’s accident and the breakup. But she seemed remarkably resilient, as sunny and happy as ever, and excelling at school.

Ana jumped as the cleaner appeared in her doorway. She hadn’t heard him come in.

He dragged his Hoover into her office and plugged it in behind her.

“Sorry for noise,” he said. He sounded Eastern European.

“No problem.”

In her final moment of consciousness, Ana was aware of the cleaner picking up her wastepaper bin. Then she felt a tiny prick in her neck. She spun around, shocked, and looked the man in the eye. Then everything went black.

Harry

Thursday morning, at about ten o’clock, Janette appeared in Harry’s office doorway, her eyes wide. “Harry, it’s the police.”

His first thought was that Andre had been caught for some misdemeanor, and he was about to be dragged in.

“Can I get you a coffee?” Janette asked as the two officers approached his desk.

“Nothing, thank you,” said the policeman. “Perhaps you could close the door on your way out.”

“Mr. Rose,” said the female officer. “It’s about your wife.”

Time seemed to slow down.

“Ana?”

“We’re very sorry to tell you that she was found dead in her office this morning.”

“Dead? No, that’s not possible.”

“There’s nothing to suggest foul play, sir. It looks like natural causes.”

Harry had lost the ability to think. His mind had gone blank.

“Mr. Rose, sir? Can we get you a cup of tea?”

“But... she can’t be dead. She just can’t be.”

The male officer went to the door.

“Sir, I know it’s a terrible shock,” said the policewoman. “Can we call someone to come and be with you?”

“We’re separated. Our daughter, Eliza. I’ll need to... the nanny will have to—”

“Sir, if you let us have the nanny’s phone number, we’ll get in touch. Is there someone else we can call for you?”

“My sister Megan. She’s Ana’s friend. Oh my god, Ana. How did she... no, it can’t be true.”

This couldn’t be anything to do with Andre. It just couldn’t. Stuff like that didn’t happen in real life.

He pictured Ana’s beautiful face, and the emotion finally hit. He swung his chair around so it was facing away from the officers, and put his head in his hands, which were now shaking uncontrollably. Tears seeped through his fingers.

There was a tap on the door, and the sound of a mug being placed on his desk.